The LoveHate Chronicles
by MidnightManic
Summary: Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.
1. The First Fate: Part 1

**Title: **The Love-Hate Chronicles

**Pairing:** Rogue and Remy

**Rating: **Teen/Mature

**Warnings:** May contain heartbreak or happiness. It depends on my mood.

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own the rights to any of my college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving ex-student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

**Summary: **Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.

**Author's note: **This is a new kind of writing style I'm trying. It's similar to a song-fic, as each vignette is based on a song. However, it's not the typical cut-and-paste-in-the-middle-of-a-fic fic. Instead, I'm using songs that can be used to unravel a different facet of the many fates of Rogue and Remy's relationship.

For a challenge, I made up some rules. One: There must be an actual story that ties the song in with it. This kind of fic can't just be story with a verse of a song that cuts into the middle of the plot. Two: You must incorporate each line of the song at least once. The chorus does not need to be repeated, unless you want to. Three: They don't have to speak the verse word for word. The lines can be summarized, edited, out of order, artfully disguised in a paragraph, whatever- so long as the intent of the song is still there.

The point of this type of ficlet is just a writing exercise I created for myself to produce one-shots faster instead of mulling over things like I do for my chapter works. I may do recognizable works or unrecognizable works. The point is to add meat to the bones of a song that may work and make it work. I hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>The Love-Hate Chronicles<strong>

**The First Fate**

**Hallelujah- Part I**

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><p>Remy LeBeau was bored.<p>

Perhaps it was because there was nobody in the mansion besides staff and graduated students. The entertainment factor was always set on 11 whenever the entire Xavier Institute mutant/student body was present and as such, he found much joy in giving some much-needed corruption to the younger ones. It was never anything _bad_; in fact, he probably just gave these kids certain skills a few years too early. They'd learn how to play poker or how to open a locked door with a credit card (or safety pin or bobby pin or a piece of gum, etc…) or (in the case of the older boys) how to properly charm a girl… _eventually. _That's what normal kids learned, right? He was just speeding up the process a little bit. It served for entertainment on both sides: he was a god to the kids and it never failed to produce some kind of response out of the staff (Ororo, Scott, and Logan, mainly).

But alas, it was a school day and everyone was at Bayville High until later. The Mansion was devoid of high levels of entertainment, as was the case every weekday.

So Remy LeBeau was bored as he created his second monster sub sandwich. A quick fleeting thought ran through his brain. Maybe… maybe he was getting too comfortable here. Breakfast, work out, shower, update security, wandering the halls. That's what his life had become- in the wee hours of the late morning/early afternoon, of course. Nightlife was his _thing_.

He wondered what he would have been doing if he wasn't here. He tried to remember what he did before he came here. It was a frustrating thought. He couldn't remember before. Maybe he _had_ become too used to this life. What kept him here for so long? He couldn't remember that either.

But what would he be doing otherwise? It was just a question to pass the time as he sat eating his lunch alone at the kitchen bar.

The kitchen door swung open carelessly. Logan grunted when he caught Remy's impassive glance.

"You look anymore bored, I'll make you do yard work."

"Bored? This is my thinkin' face."

He grunted again. "Well, stop it. You look ridiculous."

"Anything for you, _cher_," he retorted dryly.

Ah, if looks could kill.

They'd both be dead: one from annoyance, one from entertainment.

It was silent as Remy started to open and munch as loudly as possible with his extra crinkly bag of chips as he watched Logan twitch and scavenge in the fridge.

And suddenly Logan stopped his fruitless search in the industrial sized fridge and straightened up, ear cocked to the side. He snorted in amusement, before shaking his head and re-entering the fridge.

"I'm afraid to ask what the voices told you this time," Remy deadpanned.

"You should be, they told me to kill you," he retorted just as evenly.

Let it be known that this was (secretly) something to fear for Remy. No matter how good he was at _everything,_ you just_ couldn't_ beat a man who regenerated. He'd tried. It hurt for a _long _while afterwards.

Remy watched him closely for a moment. Was… was that a… _smile_ _on his face?_

Oh fuck.

Logan _was_ considering it.

'Dissipate it! Quick! Rogue's not around to save your dumb ass!'

"Do the world a favor and save the creepy face for Halloween, _homme._"

Logan didn't reply, the (albeit small) smile more obvious now.

Silence and anticipation. He put down the chips slowly and reached hesitantly for his sub again. And the knife.

"Know what's got her in a good mood, Gumbo?"

"Wha?" he answered, mouth full of delicious sub sandwich, hand still gripping the knife.

"Rogue."

"Wha' 'bout 'er?" He was suspicious, but he was hungry and this sub was _so_ _good_.

"She only plays when she's in a good mood."

Now he had his attention. "Wha' t'hell y' talkin' 'bout?" he managed to say, mouth still full.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Her guitar, dumbass. She's playing her guitar. Question is, why, _Gumbo?_"

He stopped mid-chew. Come again?

"She plays guitar?"

Logan closed his eyes and groaned. "God, you're useless," he mumbled as he walked out the door, beer in hand.

Situation was neutralized. Crisis adverted. Now he could finish his lunch without fear of it coming out of holes in his stomach.

But really… she played? Granted, he couldn't admit to knowing everything about her (which was a blow to his occupational training, really), but how could he not know something so basic? (But then again, when had he really paid _that much _attention to a girl that was_ just his friend?_) And what else did he not know about her?

And why _was_ she in a good mood then?

He hadn't seen her since breakfast and even then she had been half asleep and fully homicidal. It had taken a while but he finally learned how to pick his battles with her.

He looked at his clock. It was a couple hours later and was around the right time to interact with her. Well, he knew what he was doing next at least.

He stopped, briefly questioning his actions with a chuckle at the door. When had she becoming a part of his routine? Is this what he had always done?

And did he mind?

Just another thought to pass the time.

He crept silently up the Mansion stairs, listening for any indication of music. It wasn't until he got halfway through the girl's wing that he heard slight twanging. A slight pang of fear and admiration passed through his head: Wolverine was really something if he could hear this slight noise. It grew louder as he made his way to her room. He walked straight up to her closed door, slightly frowning. As of late, she had becoming considerably more social and tended to keep her door slightly ajar. She only ever kept it closed when she was pissed beyond apocalyptic reason or when she was sleeping or changing.

He had made the mistake of opening the door on each of those occasions (among others as well). It was a quick lesson after that: knock or die/be impaled/fall into a coma (of variable lengths).

He stood at her door, debating. The twanging continued, short plucks, silence, more plucks, silence, long strums. Was she tuning it? And Logan said she was in a good mood, right? He tried to feel her out; there wasn't much in the angry emotion department. In fact, she was… pretty content.

He was about to raise his hand and knock, but then it started.

Remy LeBeau was not highly educated in the musical department. If anything, he'd consider himself more on the "music appreciation" side of the spectrum. He wasn't a singer and he wasn't well versed in anything musically speaking. He liked music, mostly jazz, but he knew nothing.

So he really had no idea what string of notes she was playing would be called. A song? An exercise? It didn't matter, because whatever it was, it was beautiful.

And the sound kept coming. It didn't stop or rest. It was a constant swirl of notes, high and low, sometimes both. It had a quiet dance feel. Spanish, maybe? He didn't know and he didn't care. It was beautiful.

And it stopped just as suddenly as it started. Just like his breathing had.

More plucking, more small notes.

His hand still raised, he knocked. She would know it was him. She had told him once his knock was different from everyone else's, that it felt different. _'It's sneaky, just like you, ya sneaky swamp rat.'_ How she came to that conclusion, he'd never know. But it was still a strange honor.

He heard rustling on her end and the snap of something close into place. He frowned.

A second later she opened the door slightly; cheeks flushed slightly, and only let her head poke through.

"Hey, what's up?" The attempt to act nonchalant as she brushed back stray hair was lost on him.

Up went his eyebrows and a slight smirk. That rushed voice was her 'oh-shit-I've-just-been-caught' voice and that blush on her cheek was her 'I-just-rushed-not-to-get-caught' flush. Was she trying to hide her skillz?

"Could ask you the same thing. You're lookin' a bit flushed."

She touched her cheek. "It's nothin'. I'm just enjoyin' my book is all."

He smirked. "Mind if I come in and enjoy it with you?"

Her eyes widened slightly and her face flushed a bit more. Why was she embarrassed?

"You wouldn't enjoy it, really. Just more Twilight-y crap. Addictive, y'know?"

"It's fine, really. Gotta know what I'm up against." He pressed himself up closer to the door, to her. She looked torn. He was prepared to use the smolder if needed. "I insist."

She opened the door slowly and let him in. A quick survey of the room indicated no book in sight. He made his way to her bed, sitting on what he called "his spot," or rather, the middle of the bed.

She rolled her eyes before making it back to her bed. "Scoot over, fat ass."

He chuckled before making room for her. She sat, slightly away, but still close for her standards. He stretched out and attempted the infamous stretch-arm-around-the-girl move; she jabbed him in the ribs before he got even out of elbow length. He laughed.

"So enlighten me, _chérie_, what does this glittery man-child have that I don't?"

"A brain, for one," she scoffed.

"Says the girl who don't even have the book in her room," he smiled smugly, closing his eyes, and resting his head against the backboard.

"I put it away, you fool," she replied hotly.

"Oh yeah? Where?"

"None of your concern, Cajun."

"Bet I could still find whatever you were doin'."

"Bet I could smack the livin' daylights outta you."

"Bet I wouldn't mind."

"Bet you can't even find your mind."

"And if I can, what do I win?"

"The gift that is called the present."

"I'm over the present. How 'bout a song?"

Rogue turned and glared at him.

Ah, if looks could kill.

"You're an ass."

"But such a sexy one," he smirked as he reached underneath her bed and reached around for the case. He found it, pulling it out slowly and placing at the edge of the bed.

"If you want, you can even pretend I'm not here."

"How 'bout you git, and I won't have to pretend?"

"Because it's good to exercise your imagination once in a while."

"I could say the same thing 'bout my fist," she mumbled, begrudgingly taking the case and popping it open. He would openly smirk, but knowingly admit that he won would infuriate her more. Honey, not vinegar, he reminded himself.

Rogue gave a soft sigh as she placed it on her lap. She took a couple small breaths and groaned loudly. She didn't turn and plead with her eyes; she knew there was no getting out of this.

"You… you can't laugh, alright? I haven't played in a while and I wasn't that great to begin with."

"Thief's honor," he smiled. She grimaced and sighed.

"Any requests?"

He shrugged. "Don't know anythin'. What was that diddly you played before? Play that."

It was entirely possible she muttered "stupid, stalking Cajun" before she started playing. But it didn't matter. It started slowly and then built up into a tornado. It was different though. It was angry. Her face was pulled down into a grimace. She was irritated.

Remy poked her stomach. "You sound frustrated."

She didn't look at him before turning her mouth down more. "It's harder with gloves. Never got the hang of it with 'em on."

"Then take 'em off."

She hesitated, biting her lip.

"We've been over this, _stupide_," he flicked her nose with his bare fingertips as he rolled his eyes. Even the smallest touch was dizzying, but not unpleasant. It was like a strange high. He tended to always get these strange highs when he was around her. It was disorienting, but he didn't mind.

He grabbed her gloves and yanked them off. It was also a trick he had to learn quickly. She was a stubborn southern gal, after all.

He gave her a cheeky grin. "Proceed."

She made a face, her cheeks slightly flushed. She was always especially endearing when she was embarrassed.

The Spanish dance played again, faster, melancholic, calm. Perfect. Beautiful. He watched her fingers fly across the neck, pluck across the soundboard. It wasn't until much later that he realized he didn't once think of a sexual innuendo about her fingers and what _else_ they could do.

He realized she had stopped and was indirectly staring at him through the corner of her eyes.

"Wow," he murmured, still staring at the guitar and her small fingers. "Didn't really believe Logan when he said you could play."

"Don't play much anymore," she commented quietly.

"When'd you learn how to play like that?"

She smiled wistfully at her guitar and hands. "Back in the days of Caldecott County. Irene believed in that sayin' 'idle hands are the devils worship.' She insisted I learn _something_, so I chose this."

He chuckled softly. "Sounds like what my _Tante _would say. She make you go to Sunday School too?"

She groaned. "I'd get grounded if I skipped."

"I got the spatula more times than I care to remember."

She lapsed back into silence, fingering her strings, making adjustments on the pegs. She chuckled quietly to herself after a moment.

"What's so funny?"

Again with the wistful smile to the instrument.

"One week, they told us about some secret chord that David played and it pleased the Lord."

"Oh yeah?"

"I hated payin' attention so one day I brought my guitar in and tried to figure it out for the longest time. After a while I forgot about it and just stopped goin'. Irene wasn't too happy with me."

"Ever figure it out?"

Her mouth twitched slightly, half smirk, half frown. "I had a couple of ideas, but I eventually narrowed it down to my favorite."

"Which were?"

He saw her bite her lip, trying to think. Hesitantly placing her hands on the neck, she mumbled to herself, and plucked a few strings.

"Aha!" she grinned, strumming the guitar, testing the sound as she went. She went quiet for a moment.

He cocked his head and squinted at her mumbles. "Sorry," she apologized quickly, catching his look. "You probably don't care for all this music theory mumbo jumbo, do you?"

"It's fine. Just don't know what you're talkin' 'bout, is all."

Shifting her weight, she moved to put the guitar back in the case. He grabbed her around her waist and hoisted her back to him. She made some kind of surprised sound. But really, she couldn't have been done already, right? Did she really get out of her good mood so easily?

"Play more." He knew he sounded desperate in her ear, but he hadn't intended to. A fresh rose color tinged her cheeks. "I'm willin' to bet my bike you also made a song with that chord. Can I hear it?"

It took a moment, but she eventually relaxed and settled back down gingerly on him, not before blowing a tendril of hair out of her face and rolled her eyes, mock angrily.

"Will you stop whinin' then?"

"Probably."

She heaved a sigh and readjusted herself on him, still leaning on him. "If I remember correctly…it goes like this…a fourth… a fifth…." She stopped and cocked her head to the side. "A minor fall… and a major lift…" she finished slowly, nodding to herself. "Alrighty, then."

Then she began to play.

And his thoughts shifted to his _Tante's_ and her reaction would have been to sit down and listen to this girl. His _Tante_ was a loud woman with dramatic tendencies and an ability to never be caught off guard. Yet, there were those rare moments in his life he had witnessed her be rendered speechless, with the ability to whisper only one chilling word.

And whenever he heard her breath it quietly, he could never understand why. Why just standing and staring into the eternal Last Supper they had stolen and passed along had made her speechless. Why when they had finally taken her to the Vatican, she couldn't speak for hours except that one word. Why when Henri told her he was finally marrying Mercy, she yelled it from the front porch with such vigor that it scared the gators creeping up to the house.

But as she played, he understood how his _Tante_ felt finally. The King of Hearts was baffled and speechless, listening and watching her compose this chaos in him. But still…

'_Hallelujah..._'

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><p>Really, he couldn't say that the update on his betrothal was bad news at a bad time. The subject itself would always be bad news, and he wasn't doing anything important in Bayville, so it wasn't really a bad time. But it was still a shitty situation in which he'd rather not deal with ever. Regardless, he still held on to some faith he'd get out of it unscathed and unwed. He <em>had<em> to.

But really… he had nothing to help him get out of this. Would Lady Luck be enough to get him out of this? Would she even care? Or would she laugh, because she finally got him off her back?

Where was the proof that this situation was going to end well?

There were no signs that supported his unrealistically strong faith other than the fact he was Remy Lebeau, lady-killer and thief. Remy: infinity; Life: zero. The score had to be balanced eventually, right?

If it had been months earlier, he would have just up and left, giving a quick goodbye to the Professor for his hospitality and tell Storm she would have to come by the Big Easy sometime so everyone could catch up. Just for a last entertainment factor, he'd probably steal Logan's beer and put it in Scott's room or the like. If it had been months earlier, he wouldn't have had trouble packing his bag and getting on his bike and just going.

But it was months later and he couldn't go as easily. As he ended the phone call and shoved it in his pocket, he surveyed his scarcely lived in room and groaned. It wasn't much, but he couldn't pack up. Not yet.

It wasn't like he was leaving yet anyways. Leaving at this hour of night would just be ridiculous. And he hadn't even fully digested dinner yet. Or eaten his midnight snack yet.

Or told Rogue yet….

But mainly, he hadn't eaten his burger gut bomb midnight snack yet.

…And hadn't told Rogue yet.

He looked at his phone time and sighed. Usually after dinner she could be found on the roof, away from the noise and general population.

Stepping out on the balcony, he looked up. It looked so much farther to the roof than before. He didn't want to climb it.

He found himself scaling the building the minute he made out her humming. She was in a good mood. Maybe this was the "bad time" for the bad news. Maybe he could wait a little bit before telling her.

And when he reached the roof plateau, he realized he couldn't even have gotten the words out if he tried. Not that he even wanted to at this point.

She bathed in the moonlight, the light ethereally reflecting off her pale skin, lying down with hands behind her head, humming a little diddly. She wore nothing but small shorts and a small tank top. Her foot tapped to her own personal drum.

And she turned on her side, catching him watching her intently, and smiled.

Smiled.

Nothing angry, nothing annoyed. Just a smile. A grin, almost.

'_Dieu…'_

It was like pushing his bike and adrenaline to speeds that would surely throw him over and kill him if he were to crash.

Was this his Lady Luck now? His proof?

"Was wonderin' where you nipped off to so quick after dinner. Figured you'd eventually come up." Still smiling.

"_Desole_, didn't think I'd be much missed."

"Nope," she popped. "It's just annoyin' how _everyone_ asks _me_ if I know what's up with _you_."

"Ahh. Join the club, Roguey," he rested down next to her, stretching as he relaxed.

From the corner of his eye, he could see her distaste.

"Who called? And don't call me that."

It was his turn to mask the distaste.

"_La famille_," he muttered, somewhat darkly.

She frowned. "That doesn't sound good."

He sighed. "When is it ever?" He ran his hands through his hair.

She turned to her side and looked at him again. If she wasn't lying down on her side, he would have bet she was about to cock her head to the side, as if she was noticing something puzzling for the first time.

"Hmm?" he prompted. He knew when a question was on her lips.

"Your hair's gettin' long."

Another quick run through his hair told him she was right. He slightly grimaced. His _Tante_ didn't care _at all_ for shaggy, unkempt hair, which was exactly what it was at the moment.

"Wouldn't even know where to get it cut," he admitted.

"Uh, how 'bout Supercuts?"

He shook his head adamantly. "_Non,_ can't just go any old place. The hair's part of the charm."

As her eyes squinted and nose crinkled, she shook her head. "Nope. Don't see it."

"Of course you don't. I'm not tryin' to charm you at the moment."

"Oh yeah, that's the reason," she rolled her eyes playfully.

"Hey! If I did put on the charm, you wouldn't be able to resist."

"Cajun, I'm pretty sure that's what you've been doin' ever since you got here and I know for a fact it hasn't worked."

"Oh yeah?"

"Uh, yeah," she nodded slowly, as if he was stupid.

"Alright, listen, _chérie_, I didn't want to do this, but you leave me no choice."

Remy scooted closer to her, propped up on one elbow, gazing intently in her amused eyes.

"Cajun, what in tarnation are you tryin'-"

A single finger, half covered touched her lips. "Shh," he murmured. She did.

The finger moved its way down, tracing her lips, her chin, before reaching back up and tucking loose hair behind her ears. His hand drifted down to caress her neck (she shivered slightly, he was _certain_), then traveled down her arm, grabbing her hand and bringing it up for a quick, yet oddly lingering kiss.

Her eyes lost the amused factor as he tested (again) the limits of her powers.

His hand snuck around her waist and yanked her closer to him. She squeaked. His legs tangled with hers as he hovered above her. One squeeze of her waist had her lips slightly parted and his hand traveled back up, combing through her hair, bringing her closer. Lips parting closer to her, he murmured her name, gazing intently into her eyes.

He was going in for the kill, powers be damned. She smelled like magnolias and vanilla and cherries and whatever else made her intoxicating. Her lip gloss was shiny and inviting and strawberry? He moved closer, still intently focused on her eyes, letting his empathy do the hypnotizing. So close to her lips…

And she burst out laughing.

He sighed and fell back on his back.

Every. Time.

"You really have been watchin' way too much _Tangled_, sugah," she mustered out as she gasped for air. "The smoulder? Really?"

"Not my fault that's been the only thing on here for a few weeks," he muttered darkly.

That just made her laugh harder.

"You are one odd woman, _chérie_," he observed.

"So I've been told. Still keeps you comin' back for more though," she smirked, standing up and wiping the dust off her hands on her shorts.

He laughed outwardly only to mask the inward feeling of wanting to stab himself in the gut with Wolverine's claws. "Where you goin'?"

"_We're_ cuttin' your hair, now let's go."

"_We're?_"

"Yep!"

"Uh, no offense, _chérie_," he began as he stood up and slowly started to scoot away from her. "But I don't believe you're certified to cut hair as majestic as mine."

"So?"

"So, like I said earlier, this hair's part of the charm. Can't just have anybody's scissors cuttin' it." He tried to sound confident and not scared that his hair could be ruined for months. He wasn't exactly sure it worked.

She narrowed her eyes. "Well, I never…" she harrumphed and shook her head. "Is the infamous Remy LeBeau… scared?"

"Scared! Pffft!" he tried to laugh it off. "Concerned for the well-bein' of my hair? Maybe."

"Don't be a wuss. I'm an expert hair cutter." She pulled his arm towards the edge of the roof. He pulled back. She looked back and gave him a weird look.

"You okay?"

Aw shit. He _had_ spent too much time here. He was getting soft- the panic was easily readable all over his face. "Eh…"

"Oh come on," she rolled her eyes playfully and pressed her soft body up against his. "Don't you trust me?" she asked in a quiet lit, squeezing his arm, gazing at him so innocently.

Oh fuck. Those eyes, that body. He stuttered for a moment before squeaking out a "Yes, of course I do, _ma chérie_."

She smiled and crinkled her pixie like nose in _that way_ before leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "And _that_, sugah, is how you properly charm someone," she grinned, before scampering down the side of the Mansion into his room.

He shook his head and sighed. "_Mon Dieu,_ that girl…"

Following in one fell swoop, he entered his room to see her making herself at home in his bathroom. She had dragged his desk chair into the bathroom and was inspecting it with a confused look on her face.

"Is this… is this one of the kitchen chairs?"

"Uh, _ouais,_" he made a face.

"What happened to the desk chair?"

"Pyro may or may not have gotten drunk and set fire to it."

She nodded. "Gotcha. Now sit," she pointed to the chair.

He looked at her make shift barbershop and cringed. It felt like he was seven again and about to throw a temper tantrum. But he sat regardless.

And then shot back up when he saw the shears and the picture.

"Those are too sharp."

"Sharp scissors cut easier."

"And why do you need a picture?"

"It's just a reference. I don't make it a point to memorize every hair cut you get, idiot."

He made a gurgled sound.

"Sit or I'll tie you to this kitchen chair."

He didn't move.

"I'll get Kitty to _phase_ you to that chair."

He sat.

"Now," she smiled, taking on a whole new demeanor as she ruffled his hair. "Don't make sudden movements. It's easier without gloves. I'd hate for you to pass out when I have scissors in my hands." Watching his reflection in the mirror, he swore he paled.

She reached over and studied the picture, her tongue peaking out of her mouth. A little smirk escaped his face despite himself. Hey, it was _cute_ when she did that.

But it was still a terrifying situation.

Shutting his eyes tightly, he flinched when he felt something touch his head. Then he flinched again as she smacked him.

"I said _don't move_ for a reason, Swamp Rat. Now calm down or you're gonna look like more of a doof."

He made another gurgled sound, but settled to be a stiff as a board.

She sighed again and massaged his shoulders soothingly. "_Relaaax_, Cajun. I'm good at this. Promise."

Remy took a deep breath and tried to unfurl himself. As she combed through his now damp hair with her fingers, it was almost like a massage he'd get at a… _massage_ place. It felt nice. And she smelled nice. As usual. And she hummed nice. As usual. What was it about her that was just so nice to be around? When she wasn't inflecting or threatening to inflect bodily harm on him that was.

But hey, even that was hot.

And when the first snips came, he was surprised to say he didn't freak out. He didn't open his eyes either, just to be safe, during the entire time she was moving around his head. It was probably only a few minutes but it felt like eternity. In his ear, he imagined each individual hair screaming in agony and then falling to its death on the cold bathroom tile. Before he could murmur a small pray for his fallen soldiers, she tousled his hair a few times and flicked his forehead.

"See! All better."

Running his hands through his hair, he zeroed in on the tuffs of hair on the floor. It was heartbreaking, really, but he gathered the courage to look up at the mirror.

Damn. He was one good looking Cajun.

It was like it was professionally cared for yet still carried his rugged, sexy, just-came-out-of-the-shower-don't-you-want-to-do-me look. His hair was perfect.

"Whaddya think?" She asked confidently, but the way she bit the side of her lip was her tell-tale sign she was nervous for the response.

He smirked. "_C'est parfait, ma chérie,_" he complimented.

"And now," she returned his smirk, "You can actually see your most charmin' aspect." Was she _actually_ feeding his ego?

"Oh yeah, and what would that be?" he challenged playfully.

Hands on her hips, she looked at him like he was stupid and rolled her eyes just as playfully at the same time. "Your eyes, you dope."

"_Ouais_?"

"Mmhm." Still focused on the mirror, she rested her chin on his head and reached her arms over his shoulder to rest on her chest and hugged him from behind. She felt so nice.

Rogue smiled as she gazed into his mirror eyes. He smiled back. He loved how she always knew the right things to tell him. Not too sweet but with the right touch of her abrasive southern self. He loved that about her.

A single breathless word escaped his lips.

"_Hallelujah_."

He loved her.

She cocked her head questioningly.

Rogue had just dethroned the King of Hearts and didn't even know it.

And with that miserable reminder of royalty and its subsequent thievery, his smile fell as he gazed mournfully back at her. It felt just like it felt he was looking down the edge of a steep cliff.

"Aw, no need to look so sad, Cajun, it's just hair," she tried to cheer him up.

His mouth turned into a somber smile as he grasped her arms and tried to memorize every detail of the girl he may or may not see again.

Her brows slowly furrowed as she released herself from his hold. "What's wrong?" she half laughed.

He couldn't respond, only continue to memorize her face in the mirror. The alarm in her eyes grew. She broke out of his hold completely and turned to face him.

"Rems?"

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"Come on, you're scarin' me."

'_Dieu…'_

"I'm in an arranged marriage. They're callin' me back home to get married."

Watching her face…it was like falling off the Eiffel Tower and never reaching the bottom.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued…<em>

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>Hello all! Just a quick note. Do you recognize this? I'd hope so, it's one of my favorite songs and it gives me the chills every time. This turned into wayyyy longer one-shot than I ever intended, so I had to make it a two-shot. Part two should come soon. I'm not sure if I'm feeling tragic or redeeming, this song could be both so easily. I may need to be swayed… XD. Until next time!


	2. The First Fate: Part 2

**Title: **The Love-Hate Chronicles

**Pairing:** Rogue and Remy

**Rating: **Teen/Mature

**Warnings:** May contain heartbreak or happiness. It depends on my mood.

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own the rights to any of my college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving ex-student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

**Summary: **Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.

**AN: **Read first chapter for rules to the game. :) Here's part two of Hallelujah.

* * *

><p><strong>The Love-Hate Chronicles<strong>

**The First Fate**

**Hallelujah- Part II**

* * *

><p><em>6 Months Later…<em>

Remy gazed up at the ivy covered gates with weary eyes. Had they always been that tall? Had they always been covered in that much thick greenery or had that been the work of Ororo when the press coverage got too intrusive? He couldn't see through them and into the driveway like he had been able to before. Entering what he thought was his pass code into the gate was met with a sharp buzzing sound.

"Access denied," rang a sharp, computerized voice. Normally, he would have just opened it up and re-wired/charged himself in, but he was too tired to care. It was only slightly hurtful that the pass code wasn't valid anymore. Was he erased from the system once he left? Or was he over thinking it and the entire system updated and everyone had new access codes?

Whatever the case was, it didn't matter now. He was too tired and too relieved to have made it this far without being killed. He rang the gate's bell and waited patiently for someone to answer. It bothered him immensely that his heart was pounding. Who would answer? Would they let him in? What he needed right now was protection- and maybe a home that welcomed him even in the slightest. And if it wasn't here, he'd find it somewhere else eventually. But right now…

"Mutant Manor!" A single, distinct, loud popping sound emitted from the speaker. "Friend or foe! State yo' bidness, puh-leeze!" Distinct chewing could be heard.

It was Jubilee.

"'s Gambit."

Pause.

Pop.

"Holy shit."

The gate opened and he revved his bike back up onto the grounds. He didn't know what to make of his greeting. Holy shit as in "good to have you back" or holy shit as in "someone is going to kill you"? There was only one way to find out.

He walked through the closest door into the Mansion. It was easier and he was less likely to be bombarded. And he was right. And wrong at the same time.

It was conveniently a school day, so he wasn't met with anyone. He was, however, met by Storm's knowing eyes and her welcoming hug.

"Welcome back," was all she uttered. "We left your room untouched. Go rest." It was too nice of a gesture to believe. But then again, everything lately had been too much to believe.

There were too many things he wanted to do right now, but he knew that most important was sleep. He hadn't slept in days. The need to get out and up the east coast and under protection had been too great for him to worry about a trivial thing called sleep. He walked like a zombie through the Mansion, avoiding the wide eyes of the older members who had been present when he so abruptly left. Thinking about speaking to them made him sigh in dread, yet speaking to _her_ made his heart twitch in fearful anticipation. It was something he wanted to get out of the way, but he had exhausted all of his energy and knew it wouldn't end well if he was this out of it.

Walking the nostalgic path to his room, he entered and dropped his small duffle bag on the floor, just staring at the room. Maybe it was his state of exhaustion that made being in his room so surreal and melancholic. It was as if he had never lived here before, as if being here at all had only been in his wildest dreams. And it had been, for the last six months. All his dreams had been plagued with being in his room and walking the floors of the Mansion and _her_. But walking around here… it felt barren and haunted and lonely. Being alone was something he did well before. But then he met _her_ and now being in this room all alone was almost unbearable. He wished they had left on better terms. Hell, he wished he had managed to slip his impending betrothal and everything else into a random conversation sometime before it blew up in his face like his first charged card.

It was an instantaneous and black sleep the second he hit the pillow. Whether it was minutes, hours, or days, he didn't know and he didn't care. What he did know was that the minute he came to, it was dark and he wasn't alone.

"So it is true," she said softly.

"What's true?" he mumbled into his pillow, still half asleep.

"I thought Jubes was kidding, but… you're back."

"Mmmm," he sounded. He couldn't affirm nor deny.

She waited in silence. He knew what she wanted him to say and he knew what she wanted to ask.

"How is she?" he mumbled, humbled by having to cowardly ask her best friend.

Kitty sighed. "She… I don't know."

Remy sighed. He sat up and ran a hand through his tangled, matted hair. "That bad?"

"Well…" He saw Kitty bite her lip, like she was fighting something. "She's… gone."

It was as if he was falling again. His head shot up and pierced into Kitty's melancholy face. "What… what do you mean she's… gone?" The last word came out almost as a choked whisper. Had she… He couldn't even think it.

"It was about a month after," she began softly. "She told me… that she couldn't be here anymore. Something about moving on to different places… to different people."

With a parched mouth, he gulped down the ball of emotion threatening to explode. He had thought… But then again, this was only slightly better. Somewhere in the back of his head it occurred to him that even if he did look and feel like shit, Kitty's eyesight couldn't see him so low.

He hesitated for a long moment. Did he want to know more? "Where's she now?"

Kitty sighed. "When she does call, she never says. Mr. Logan's the only one who ever really knows. I think she's overseas right now though…"

A dark chuckle escaped his lips. When she really wanted to be, she was faithful to her nickname. "She at least havin' a good time?"

Kitty bit the inside of her cheek, obviously trying to choose her words carefully. "In the beginning, it didn't sound good. But now…"

She didn't need to finish that sentence. And he nodded even though he knew she wouldn't be able to see.

"That's good to hear," he replied evenly.

And theoretically, it was good.

"How… how are you doing?" she hesitated so obviously he smiled wryly. Had this not been a more tender subject, he knew that Katherine Pryde would jump on any obvious sentiment he may have/have had about Rogue. But with the delicate subject at hand, he was grateful she was showing tact and not making him relive made-up teenage romances.

"'M fine. It's been a long couple of days, just had to get some rest." If he was being honest, it had been a long couple of months- for more reasons than his arranged marriage.

"Are you going to stick around?"

It took a minute to formulate a response. What had kept him here before wasn't here anymore. But what was drawing him away before wasn't there anymore either. He was a ghost in limbo. "Dunno."

A few more minutes of awkward but understanding silence passed before Kitty left, giving him a melancholy hug on the way out.

Rogue was true to her last heated words to him, that she was done with him. He could trust her to be true to her words like that. Just hearing about her parading around, about her pain receding, it was a theoretical good thing.

And finding that card, the one he gave her some years ago, just lying in his empty dresser was a also theoretical good thing. This was her white flag, shamelessly announcing that she was giving up on him, that she was truly walking away from everything Remy LeBeau. He wondered idly if he would get to walk away from her too.

Charging the card a death-tinged tint, he let it disintegrate to ash in his hands. And theoretically, this would be the end of anything reminiscent of her, the end of her effects on him.

"Hallelujah," he lied.

Even the echo in the barren room sounded cold and broken.

* * *

><p>Remy didn't know how long he had been back at the Institute when he heard the news. Weeks, months, maybe even a year, he couldn't be bothered to care about the time that had passed. It was cold out and just as miserable inside- but that's how it always was for him.<p>

The rumors first started with a phone call. It had been difficult for him to keep his poker face initially whenever someone mentioned her name and phone call at the same time. It got easier over time to hear or maybe he stopped caring. Whatever it was, it got him by. But this phone call seemed to garner more buzz than normal due to the least likely person.

As was generally the case, whatever got Logan into a good mood was something to talk about. Whatever made him cancel a week of Danger Room sessions for "good behavior" was something to gossip and reminisce about for the next decade. Conspiracy theories, romance stories, and all around gossip filled the Mansion- until someone observant enough put the pieces together. Didn't Mr. Logan get all thirty-one flavors of happy right after that phone call with Rogue? Didn't he talk to Forge about reactivating someone's account? Didn't he ask one of the girls to "vacuum and dust _every single room_, occupied or not, on the girls wing"?

Remy knew what believing in idle gossip wasn't a good idea, ever. But…

But when he woke up one drizzly morning and the excitement was over the top and unavoidable, he had to ask what the hell was up. So he did ask. He asked Kitty.

"Why does it feel like everyone's snorted somethin' today?" he grumbled into his coffee cup at a beaming Kitty.

"Logan took one of the jets out this morning," she squealed excitedly.

"Mission?"

"Nope," popped in an equally cheerful Jubilee.

"How do you know?" He was a grumpy morning person.

"Cuz he said he'd be back for dinner," she answered nonchalantly. Everyone had learned to just ignore an irritable Gambit.

"And I think Storm got a cake!" Kitty exclaimed before clamping her hand over her mouth to keep herself from screeching louder.

"Oh yeah?"

"Jean's tracking him on Cerebro," Jubilee nodded, happy she was in the know.

Kitty wasn't informed of this little tidbit and grasped Jubilee's shoulders with fervor. "Where is he?"

"Jeans says somewhere over the Atlantic. Trajectory says maybe Scotland."

Kitty jumped up and down. "Scotland? Like, Muir Island, Scotland?"

"Sounds like," Jubilee grinned. They both grinned and shrieked. Remy took this as a sign to make his exit.

He spent the rest of the day trying to take his mind of things, to distract himself. Maybe if he distracted himself, he could ignore her arrival and just casually bump into her sometime later. But it was painfully apparent when she arrived later that evening. The rumbling of the under-court garages open and the vibration of every student at the Institute run around the dormitories and down the grand staircase was too apparent to ignore. Muted shrieking and excitement reached his ears, which were already full with the sound of his heart thumping erratically. He knew his absence would be noted and not seeing her would bug him until he did. Grabbing his coat and his devil-may-care face, he began a slow and easy saunter down to the commotion.

Standing in the back of the group, he saw the elevator doors open and the shrieking intensified. Arms were flying and greetings were yelled. He saw Kitty and Jubilee and Kurt sandwich her in and jump up and down. Flashes of her white streak gleamed through the throng of people. She twirled closer and glided away, her face never frowning, her eyes never searching for him.

_Dieu,_ he wished they allowed smoking indoors.

But she was dragged slowly towards the inside of the foyer, greeting all of those waiting patiently to welcome her back. The staff, the older X-Men, the younger X-Men… him. And she made her way through each one, greeting them with smiles, not seeing him shrouded in the back.

And he watched her parade gloriously towards the back, taking in the painfully apparent changes: Her tan; her long, wild, wavy-almost-curly hair she rarely ever let him see back then; her stiletto boots; her tight jeans; her bare hands; her close fitting shirt; her slim jacket; her genuine smile.

Ororo released Rogue from her tender grasp and finally, her bright green eyes finally drifted towards him. The genuine smile faded from her eyes and the happy mask forced its way to the surface. Rogue walked towards him like she didn't want to but couldn't help it. It was brief, but he saw the focus in her eyes infinitesimally twitch downwards and force itself back upwards.

Without realizing it, he had floated over to meet her always present pull and grasped her hand lightly with his always gloved hands. It was a quick kiss to the back of her hand and a hard, lingering fixation. Maybe his gaze would pierce and shatter her mask and allow him a desperate glimpse at what was really going on underneath it.

But it wasn't.

"Evenin', _chérie,_" he nodded pleasantly, the ghost of a smirk he used to have somewhat present.

"Evenin', Cajun." Her forced smile and nostalgic eyes spoke of guarded secrets she may never show him again.

A fleeting moment and she was gone, swept away by a throng of people who hadn't missed her nearly as much as he had. It was clear to him, as she briefly glanced at him before she left the foyer, that he had lost this bet. There would be no victory march away from her.

And as the hours, days, and weeks passed, Remy heard all about her adventures through the gossipmongers of the school. How she had paraded around the northern states, got bored, and eventually shipped herself overseas. While there had been tales of all her adventures, most of the stories spoke of how she eventually landed herself at Muir Island and the various people she had befriended there: Moira, Sean, Gus. Gus was a particularly present name, especially when recounted by the other girls of the mansion. Certain things also were tied to his name: hot, former thief, power neutralizer, Rogue's love interest?

It raised certain curious questions in his head of course, but he _wouldn't_ let this bother him as he went about his day to day activities. Of course, it was hard; she now became an unavoidable part of his life at the Institute. Every day was a game, a dance to be civil and courteous with minimal interaction. Every step she took, he was hyperaware and met her movements, stride for stride. It was half hearted. He'd catch himself examining her through the corners of his eyes as subtly as he could manage. He'd catch himself wanting to join into her conversations, to ask her questions, to laugh with her like he remembered. It was turning into a one sided obsession that was eating him alive. It was all he could do to reprimand himself and fend off his urges with drinks and women.

It was dark times and he knew he looked that part. The women told him he looked dangerously dark and mysterious; his teammates told him he looked hung-over and dead on his feet; his (few) friends told him he looked hardened. Piotr even went so far as to call him acerbic. That term was so far his favorite description for himself.

While on some level he understood the general irritable and acidic nature he had begun to grow, he hadn't realized how far gone he truly was. Leave it to Rogue to be the one to point it out so candidly that it made him want to stab himself with Wolverine's claws again. Only she could bring him to that.

Every night for months it had been the same routine: get dressed, get drunk, get laid, get home at a God-awful indecent hour. On this fine night, he was currently undergoing stage four of the nightly operation. This was the part of the plan in which he dangerously swerved into the Insitute's driveway, drunkenly stumble through the side entrance, and heave himself onto a kitchen barstool with Logan's "secret" stash of beer. Then, after about two or three beers, he would just stare sullenly and drunkenly at the walls or what have you.

And at this point of the night is when she waltzed in. The buzz in his head dulled any indication anyone was coming. When the door swung open and the lights flicked on, his head rose up sluggishly to the door. There stood Rogue, stopped and clearly startled out of her yawn.

"Oh… hey," she greeted slowly, wide-eyed and still standing in the doorway.

He saw the awkwardness and the wish to disappear in her face and a hot flash of annoyance ran though him. The thing about being drunk was that you were liable to say whatever was on your mind. With Remy LeBeau, it may or may not be nice. "S' what? You ain't gonna come in just cuz I'm here?" Lately, he hasn't been so nice.

"You startled me," she defended herself amicably, only shrugging. "Didn't expect anyone to just be sittin' here in the dark." She carefully maneuvered her way around him and into the kitchen, opening cabinets and the fridge. His eyes shadowed her darkly, closely examining the changes. Her subtly revealing night clothes revealed her tanned and toned body. Were those new battle scars on her? Were those new curves on her?

Remy knew he wasn't being subtle in checking her out and quite frankly didn't give a fuck. His eyes drifted up and lingered on her bare, beautiful, and still sleepy but alert face. She tried hard to avoid his gaze but her eyes flickered towards him as she poured something into a mug.

"Good night?" she asked pleasantly, softly, clearly uncomfortable with his drunken leering.

And he felt a cruel smirk twist his lips. "Always a fantastic night. Good booze, good women, good lays." He took a chug of whatever the hell he was drinking and continued to study her, anticipating her reaction. Flaunting the more physical aspects of relations was always a sensitive issue with her and he knew the fact well. Hell, he had always gone out of his way to never mention it to her. But why bother now? She could pleasantly side-step him and pretend that he didn't exist on her radar of acquaintances all she wanted. But now… everything was ammo. In his life he had quickly learned how to shoot at someone who outdrew him. He was an expert at that game. He always won.

But not tonight. She met his eyes amicably and took a drink of her milk. "That's good to hear," she nodded, clearly not affected by his sharp words. She didn't linger there after she finished. She stuck her mug in the dishwasher and washed her hands, purposefully not seeming rushed.

"Night," she hummed as she glided by, but Remy's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. He wanted to feel the curve and heat of her body so badly. Maybe because it was his nighttime craving, maybe because it was her. It didn't matter. Her eyes widened as she was pulled back into him. "What the hell?"

"What's th' matter, _chérie_? Can't spare a coupla minutes t' catch up wit' an old friend?" he crooned. The brief eye-widening fear in her eyes thrilled something deep in him. It was just like how his touchy nature unnerved her when he first moved into the Institute. Then it dulled and she raised her chin confidently, passing his comment off as nothing.

"I'll spare some time when I see him," she murmured calmly, appraising him quietly before she tried to walk off. But he tightened his grip and kept her close. She smelt sweeter, if possible. Her jaw set and eyes flashed. Her anger was just like he remembered.

"_Mais,_ y' do see 'im and yet y' can't be bothered by him."

"Not my fault he's a drunk now." She yanked her hand out of his grip, apathetic and clipped.

He smirked darkly, standing up and towering over her. In his drunkenness he was tired of being aloof and elusive and he was tired of her being so calm and polite. He was going a candid route and damn it all to hell if he didn't try to move her into her formerly passionate anger. "Gallivantin' 'round the world an' the Rogue comes back too good t' talk t' a lowly t'ief. Never thought I'd see the day." His voice was mocking, bitter just like he was.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped back. "Don't you preach to me, _Gambit_," she spit back evenly. "I don't got time to waste on an _jerk_."

"S' that's what y' think o' me now, _hein?_" he inched towards her. "Tell me. What else y' t'ink?"

"I don't think _shit _about _you_ anymore," she snapped, her anger finally piecing through his muted empathy. He froze. Even though he was shit-faced, it still felt like being socked in the stomach.

"Of course," he mused derisively. "Why would y'? Wit' y' new fuckin' boyfriend, y' new fuckin' life."

"Don't you even start that with me," she glared. "You got no right."

"I've heard 'bout _him_. That guy who c'n turn off y' powers. Must be nice f' both o' y', _hein_?" The need to be close to her was unbearable and he pressed her up against the wall suddenly, hands grasping her hips.

A sound between a grunt and a gasp squeaked out, the fear underlying her warning returned for a split second. "Remy…"

"Touchin' wit' _absolutement _ no risk involved at all," he mused quietly into her ear, burying his head in her neck, smelling her sickeningly familiar aroma and groaning contently, consequences be damned. He could blackout in his room or here. He didn't give a damn.

And she finally found the courage to push him back.

"_Stop_ it with the pity party. I ain't gonna play this game." Her voice was firm and shaky.

He chuckled darkly, tuffs of hair cutting into his view. It was a burning realization. She hadn't denied anything. "S' it is all true then," he accused slowly, his eyes smoldering with anger and resentment.

"You don't know what the hell you're talkin' about," she warned angrily.

His face coiled into a sardonic and sinister smirk. There was a desperate, horrific need to go as far down into his holy, dark hell as he could and drag her down with him. "The Rogue was desperate enough t' jump into bed wit' the first guy she could."

Had he really wanted to, he could have avoided the jolting punch to his face, the one that sent him sprawling listlessly onto the cold ground. But he didn't avoid it. He deserved it.

"Hallelujah," he muttered, wiping blood off his lip. He didn't remember her right hook being that powerful.

And Rogue stood over him, glowering through flashing eyes, shaking fists, heaving breaths. "I don't know what the fuck happened to make you such an asshole," her voice held steady and unbroken with cold anger, "But knowin' you, you did this to _yourself_."

* * *

><p>It took a few days for Remy to face what he had done. The resulting smoke from burning his bridges choked his usual man-pride and swagger. He couldn't walk the halls, knowing he would face scolding and chastising from the other residents who undoubtedly heard of the horrific spectacle. During that time, he seldom left his room, if not for food, then for booze to make lasting through the night bearable. All former responsibilities like Danger Room, patrols, socializing were on hiatus until he could man up and apologize… or skip town.<p>

But it was hard. He repeated her last scathing words and let their meaning sink in and stab, twist, and chafe his open wounds. She verbalized so eloquently the same thoughts he refused to surface: that every horrible thing that had happened in the last god-knows-how-long had resulted from his smarmy, self-seeking self. It was a bitter pill to swallow; chugging his bourbon was the only way to stop the burn on the way down.

It didn't take long into his self-imposed solitude before he was sought after by his closer friends. As generally was the case, they had found out a two or three days of isolation he was approachable, if not lethargic enough to not threaten to blow things up.

It was four days after when he woke up to Logan glaring at him. It was a depressing realization: even in his sleep he wasn't able to snap out of it enough to hear someone as loud as Logan the Human Magnet entering his room. He was far gone.

"Get up, get dressed, and get yer ass in the Danger Room."

"Good mornin' to you too," he grumbled in his pillow

"It's goodnight, dumbass, and you'd know that if you stopped lookin' down a handle for the time."

He only grunted in response. A hangover he could deal with. Add a bit of Logan and he didn't care for that mix whatsoever.

"Danger Room. Ten minutes."

Grunt.

"Five minutes."

He wondered if the foulness of his hangover could scare Logan off if he breathed on him.

"Don't fuck with me. I'll get Kitty to phase yer ass all the way down there."

He scoffed into the pillow. If he remembered correctly, that threat was always said, never used. It had lost its meaning.

He heard Logan clunk out of the room and felt himself drift back into sleep. Thank god they gave up so easily.

Sometime later, he felt a poke on his head. He swatted it away with a sluggish hand. Was he so disgusting flies had swarmed to him? Gross. He _was_ far gone.

But the poking continued. And then it turned into flicking. And it turned into rapid-fire slaps.

"_Merde_," he hissed, rolling over away from the offending hands.

Kitty stood over him, grinning. "Oh good! You're awake!"

"What the hell are you doin'?" he groaned, the room light flicked on full force.

"Personal pick-up service, courtesy of Mr. Logan!"

"Wha?"

She grabbed his wrists. "All aboard the Shadowcat Express! Wooo woooooo!" God, she was loud.

But before he could inch away in protest, they had already phased through one level of the Institute. The feeling of falling towards hell came shortly after that realization- or maybe that was the hangover speaking. And by the time he felt the nausea, he had already hit the cold, cold ground. As he groaned in his sprawled state, he felt a pat on his head. "Good luck," whispered Kitty.

A shadow loomed over his squinty eyes. "Was that necessary?"

"I warned yer dumbass. Now get up."

He groaned and waved Logan away.

And was met with a sharp kick to his side.

"What the _fuck_?" he hissed, gripping his side.

"Get up."

He struggled to get up to his side. Damn, he did drink a lot last night.

"What the hell is your problem?"

And Logan kicked him in the stomach. He crouched over and struggled to stand up.

"You're my problem, punk," He swiped at Remy's head with claws, to which Remy narrowly avoided.

Remy could barely catch his breath, much less catch his footing to defend himself. "Holy shit, what d'ya want?" he grunted.

"For you to put up a goddamn fight already," he growled, sending a high kick to his head. Remy rolled away at the last moment.

"Oh, is that what we're doin'?" he grumbled, gripping his side as he rebounded up. Did Logan have an adamantium shoe too?

"What I'm doin' is knockin' the drunk outta you, shit head," he rumbled. Within seconds Logan was in his face with a claw-less punch that send him flying back to the ground. He tasted blood in his mouth and spit it out on the floor as he struggled to get up.

"What? You ain't gonna fight for this either?" Logan sneered scathingly. "Hell, I expected more from you, Casanova," Logan shook his head, just staring at him.

"Sorry I don't meet your expectations," Remy spat.

Logan charged him, sending him flying. Remy lay on the ground, not even attempting to get up. It didn't matter though; Logan kicked his side again and grabbed him by the shirt. One easy rag-doll hoist threw him against the wall. Logan grabbed his shirt again and slid him up the wall, eye level.

"I don't know what the hell happened between you two and frankly, I don't give a single fuck."

"Well, it sure seems like you do," Remy struggled for breath. It was apparent he wasn't as fit as he used to be in his glory days.

"What I do give a fuck about is how you both stopped fightin' and I got stuck with the remains," he seethed.

"Never said you had to play babysitter," he gasped as Logan tightened his grip.

"I had to watch her run away to god knows where and now I gotta watch you self-destruct? _I don't fuckin' think so, bub,_" he roared, sending the Cajun flying across the Danger Room floor. Remy groaned. Papa Bear was mad indeed.

Remy shot up when he saw Logan sprinting full speed with claws intended. "Fight, goddamnit!"

Remy didn't get out of the way fast enough when Logan's claws sliced his chest. He clenched his teeth to keep in the pain and rolled away. Anger bubbled up, feeding his adrenaline and completely clearing his mind from the alcohol-induced fog. A snarl erupted from his throat as he blocked Logan's next punch and pushed him off. Logan slowly grinned as he attacked again, but Remy grimaced as he fought on through, even going so far as to charge his tattered shirt and throw it in Logan's face. His chest was starting to sting.

Sometime later (hours, if he were to guess) and too many nicks to his body, Remy finally collapsed. Logan's shadow cut over his vision.

"You done bein' a fuckass?" In other words, 'are you gonna fight for her, or not?'

"Don't think I got a choice."

"Good boy."

Remy struggled to stand up. "_Dieu,_ why the hell are these cuts stingin' so bad?"

Logan chuckled. "Chopped up jalapenos for dinner. You may want to visit Hank sometime soon."

And Remy cursed Logan darkly as he ventured to the Medical Bay, during the entire treatment there (and then some), and into the kitchen to get "some kind of healthy hydration before he dies" (Hank's words, not his). By the time he trekked to the kitchen door, he had almost used all of curse words in his arsenal, all except for one.

"_Merde_," he breathed, standing in the kitchen door, staring like a deer in the headlights at the lone inhabitant.

Rogue gave him a brief, uninterested eye raise before turning her attention back to her cup of coffee and magazine.

He took a gulp. Oh, how the tables have turned.

But he had to man up and face this.

Or else he had a feeling Logan and his sidekick Kitty would come after him again. And he did _not_ want to relive jalapeno cuts peppered with alcohol.

"Mornin'," he mumbled, making his way to the fridge. Well, he was assuming it was morning. He hadn't actually been outside in a while. In any case, she didn't answer, just continued flipping pages.

Remy grabbed a large cup of water and chugged it back. It was strangely flavorless and smooth going down. It was even stranger that it was strange. He dallied a bit longer, chugging another glass a bit more slow. His mouth opened a few times to say something menial, something that would open the gates a little bit, but he found nothing. What could he say that wasn't a groveling apology? After another glass, he decided to pour himself coffee while he got the balls to finally say something. Stalling, in other words.

He grabbed his cup and held his breath as he sat down across from her. She got up and moved to leave.

"Wait!" he called, the request flying out of his mouth.

She rolled her eyes at the table and continued to clean up. "I don't do that for anyone anymore."

He winced. He deserved that.

"Please," he murmured.

Rogue stopped all movement and stared at him apathetically, but he swore he saw her eyes flicker to his bandaged, bare chest.

"I'm sorry," he started low. "I'm sorry for the other night. I was drinkin' and I was mad and I just-" he swore and ran a hand through his hair. This was hard. He couldn't take her just staring at him like he was just a lawn chair. "I was bein' an asshole and I had no right to be an asshole to you."

She only gazed at him stoically. "You done?"

He swallowed and nodded. "Yeah, I'm done."

She nodded minutely and started walking to the door.

And before he could stop himself, he lunged after her and grabbed her wrist. "The marriage," he started. She tensed up and he loosened his hold a bit. The truth was burning him. "I killed Julien. The marriage was annulled and I was exiled."

He held his breath with anticipation. This is what he had wanted to tell since he heard she was coming back, what he had so dreaded telling her. He could lose her forever from this.

After a long pause, she freed her hand and rested it on the swinging door. "I'm sorry to hear that," she responded evenly, walking down the hallway and away from him.

Remy watched her walk away; feeling like a cold shower was just forced on him. His held breath flew out of his mouth like a punch in the gut when he realized he had been holding her bare wrist the entire time.

* * *

><p>Cynical misery seemed to be the only thing he gained while being sober. Each day he would float around the Mansion, dancing the same waltz to the same song. He had hoped that his confession would have opened up some kind of door between them- he just wasn't sure if it was the "you're a horrible human being" door or the "I'm glad you told me this, let's be friends" door. Either way, no door was opened. In a last ditch effort, Remy surrounded himself with the Mansion's inhabitants. Whether it was to revive some of his humanity via socializing or a way to be close to her, he couldn't tell the difference. All he could tell was that things weren't the same and would never be the same.<p>

Each day was a slow realization of this fact, a constant thought on the back of his mind. He decided the daily dose of bitter pill was enough, when he heard rumors that she had been called upon by her new overseas friend Gus and she had insisted adamantly that they see each other soon, that it had been too long, that she missed him, etc, etc. She was too happy when she said his name and the pill was too much to take.

When he made the decision to leave that night, it wasn't a horrible heartbreak that left him reeling. It was a slow and conscious realization that there would be no happy ending to his despair- at least, it wouldn't be found at Xavier's Institute. He supposed packing his bag for himself was better than being kicked out. He doubted he could have abstained from drinking himself to oblivion any longer; he knew he would have just let Logan kill him on his next attempt at intervention. This was the better option- for everyone. He could get away from any reminder of her and him and how there was never any milk to cry over to begin with.

He wrote his quick thank you notes late into the night. To Xavier, for his generous opportunities. To Stormy, for her hospitality. To Logan, for his intervention. There wasn't much to be said for the others; he doubted they'd believe the words of a perpetual asshole anyways.

Swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder, he drifted the halls, darkly remembering the time he couldn't stand to leave the place. How ironic that this place became his personal hellhole after so many months of wishing for it. He supposed that this was God's way of putting him in his place. Heck, Lady Luck and God probably had a kickback and decided this was the best way to teach that pompous Remy LeBeau a lesson. The devil in his own personal hellhole, only feet away from the woman he loves but can't have, because that's the very least he deserved.

He pondered this darkly as he entered her room quietly. This was the last thing he should be doing to himself. He remembered morosely how she looked just as breathtaking now as she did that night of the room; the moonlight reflected on her face and she glowed ephemerally like an angel.

But angels and devils didn't associate in God's heaven.

For once, he was happy that time passes slowly when you're stone-cold sober. He relished every second he could sweep his gaze over her peaceful face; when he couldn't resist actually stroking her soft cheek, he knew his time was up.

But by that time, she had drifted out of sleep and was gazing at him just as desolately.

"What're you doin' here?" she whispers drowsily.

All he can do is step back into the shadows, but she's already seen the duffle bag on his back.

"You're leavin' again, aren't you?" she murmurs, her voice broken with sleep.

"'Bout time I move on to different places…" he repeats as evenly as possible. He realizes he's repeating her words, but he doesn't do it intentionally.

"Where?"

He shrugs. "Dunno." The word hangs thickly in the air.

She shrugs off the covers and sets her feet on the floor, unsure if she should get up.

He knows he's lingered too long, that leaving could only get harder now. He turns and places his hand on the door knob; the words slip out before he can stop it. "_Bon nuit, ma chérie._"

"Wait…" she whispers, it coming out quietly yet forced, and his hand tightens on the door knob.

He hears the rustling of feet on the ground. The force of her lips on his jars his hand away from the cold door knob and he can't help grasping her desperately instead. She pulls away minutely, her lips quivering against his as she speaks brokenly.

"If I ask you to stay this time, will you?"

Hallelujah.

* * *

><p><strong>Authors Note<strong>: So if you couldn't guess, this is Rufus Wainwright's version of Hallelujah. I couldn't decide whether to make this end happily or tragically, so I chose the ambiguous (but still pretty obvious) route. I hope you all enjoyed this little mini obsession I've had with the song and as such, please leave a review or two. Reviews inspire me and make me update faster. : ) And thank you all who put me on your alerts. I may not have gotten a lot of reviews, but DAYMN I got a lot of alerts, which is still flattering.

The next fate of the chronicle will be another song, but it will only be a one-shot song. As you can tell, this would have gotten reeeeeally long if I had uploaded it in one part. However, don't expect this to be a regularly updated thing. (It's funny, I speak as though all my other fics have been regularly updated…) Anywho, I hope you enjoyed the rambling of my mind. Please review/check out some of my other stories!

MidnightManic


	3. The Second Fate

**Title: **The Love-Hate Chronicles

**Pairing:** Rogue and Remy

**Rating: **Teen/Mature

**Warnings:** May contain heartbreak or happiness. It depends on my mood.

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own the rights to any of my college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving ex-student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

**Summary: **Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.

**AN: **Read first chapter for rules to the game. :) These don't necessarily have anything to do with each other OR need that you know anything more than what is presented.

* * *

><p><strong>The Love-Hate Chronicles<strong>

**The Second Fate**

**Baby**

* * *

><p>The sharp sound of a phone vibrating on wood startled Remy out of his sleep quick. He grunted in response to the buzzing; if it was Henri, Theo, Lapin, or Emil prank calling him again, he <em>would<em> make good on his promise to call them in their wee-hours of the morning. If anything, he'd just call Henri super early, wake up baby Jacques, which would wake up Mercy, which would put Henri in a horrible predicament. That would fix things _fast_.

Without opening his eyes, he groped for the offending phone on his nightstand and breathed a sleepy, grumbly, "_Bon nuit, qui est-ce?"_

"Um, hey…This is Remy right? This is um… this is Kitty, Rogue's friend…"

The voice sounded just as tiny and girly as the girl he thought she was. Rogue's friend? The petite phaser? He pulled the phone away from his face and squinted at the phone. It clearly said "Anna Marie Cell" on it.

He mooshed the phone back onto his cheek and sighed a response. "_Oui_, what'sup?" He was sleepy and nowhere near ready to be coherent.

"Well, actually, I was hoping you could come pick Rogue up..."

He lifted his phone again and looked at the time. _Dieu_, it was late.

"Why? What' happened?"

"Well, we kinda snuck out to go to a Brotherhood party… And she got really drunk…" There was background rustling.

He swung his feet of his bed and sighed. "She okay?"

"Well, she was great… and then she kinda started off on the… Cody thing again…" And wailing. There was definite southern-flavored wailing.

"_Mon Dieu,_ what's happening right now?"

"Well, she's still drunk. And upset. And she wants to go home, but we obviously can't and since she drove us and I _still_ don't have my stupid license AND we've both been drinking AND- _Rogue, get back here!_"

Remy held the phone away from his ear as Rogue's friend got louder and more hysterical.

"_Chaton_, I'll be there in a few minutes, just keep her calm, _hein?_" He didn't know if she answered, but he hung up anyways.

He shook himself awake and splashed some water on his face. Well, so long for sleeping today.

* * *

><p>When he rolled up to the infamous Brotherhood dwelling, he wondered how the cops hadn't been called yet. Cars parked as if the lawn was a dirt patch (which is what it was starting to turn into regardless) and drunk people were flung around, on, and in said cars. The music was loud and the smell of stale beer only increased as he marched closer. He wished he told Kitty to put Rogue in an easy to reach spot.<p>

In any other circumstances, he would have had enjoyed a party such as this. There was dancing, there was drinking (although he liked to think he was classier than the average teenage beer-drinker _by far_), and there were slutty girls he could enjoy for a night. But alas, tonight was not such a night.

He made his way through the hot, beer-scented house and was stopped as he went through the kitchen.

"You!" exclaimed a gothy girl with red and black. She looked familiar. "I've been looking for you all night!" She swayed a little, making the red liquid in her red cup dangerously close to spilling all over her.

"Oh really?"

"Yes! I've been on the lookout for Rogue's hot friend." She stopped briefly to take a drink. "You are Rogue's hot friend, right?"

He smirked. "I suppose so. Got any idea where she is?"

The girl pointed out back, seemingly unable to produce a sentence without taking a drink. "Just listen for the death threats. She shouldn't have gone far. I think Kitty phased her to a chair."

"Merci," he saluted, making his way out the back door and past a fair group of people smoking legal and illegal substances. As he passed the group, he heard the increasing wailing he heard on the phone.

"It's jus' not _fair!_" He heard a screech. He'd know that drunken southern shriek any day. He saw her stumbling around, with a smaller girl following her around, attempting to comfort her. "No! Ya don't _know_!" And then she took a chug of whatever beer was in the can.

"Rogue, honey, put the beer can down," he heard Kitty ask calmly.

"No! Ah _need_ this! This is _mahne_!"

He figured this was a great time to take the can away when she was focused on Kitty. "_Chérie_, I think you should listen to her."

Rogue whirled around and fell on her ass. "An' _you_! Why the hell are _you_ here?" she pointed at Remy. Kitty bent down to help pick up the squirming Rogue.

"Jesus Christ, I'm so glad you're here. She keeps switching between angry and angry-sad and she- _Jesus, will you stop drinking!_" she hollered, as she yanked away a flask Rogue had produced from god knows where.

Remy sighed. "That was only flask number one. She got another one in her boot. Give it to me, I'll make sure she don't find it." He hid the flask in one of his coat pockets and reached over to hoist Rogue over his shoulder. She screeched and pounded on his back. He took this opportunity to lodge the other flask out of her boot and into a pocket. She pounded harder.

"You no-good," pound, "stupid, thievin'," pound-pound, "Swamp rat! Gimme back my stuff!"

"You need a place to stay too?" he asked Kitty, completely ignoring the livid, drunk Rogue on his back.

"Uh, no," Kitty twirled her hair nervously. "Lance offered me his bed…"

Remy raised his eyebrows.

"I'll be good, promise."

"You got her phone?" Pound, grunt, pound.

Kitty fumbled through her shirt for it. "Got it!"

"Call if you need anythin'. I'll bring her back in the mornin' to drive you back."

"Thanks for picking her up, Remy!" he heard Kitty call as he walked back through the party-goers. He saluted in response, still ignoring Rogue's profane verbal attacks.

"Y'know, _ma chérie,_ you keep misbehavin', I'll have to spank you. I got a good angle."

"Don't you dare!"

And they made it through the house and after the third surprised "Hey!" he had realized she was stealing other people's drinks. He promptly set her down and carried her the rest of the way bridal style, all the while, she spit venom and anger.

Getting to the car, he stuffed her in the passenger seat and locked the door before she could make a drunk dash. He slid into his seat and started the car easily. She hit him.

"Rogue," he began warningly.

"Stupid Swamp Rat, gimme back ma drinks!"

"Rogue."

"You ain't got _no_ right! _No right,_ ya hear me!"

"Rogue."

"Ah've never taken yo' drinks away!"

"Anna Marie."

And her face crumpled up into sobs. "No! Don't you _call_ me that!"

"Why not?" he asked calmly, ready for the onslaught.

"'Cuz it's jus' not _faaaair!_" she sobbed. "Why did ma powers havta suck _so_ _much_!"

And he began the fairly short drive back to his apartment. He figured he could make it in time…

"Stupid, stupid, stupid boy who decided he wanted to try an' kiss the mutant vampire! _Stupid!_" she wailed.

Remy pulled up into the parking garage and helped her stumble out of the car. She was definitely more easygoing than ten minutes earlier, and definitely more wobbly. They would make it…

She stumbled through the building halls and in the light he could finally see that she had some killer stiletto boots instead of her normal combat boots. She was also dressed a little more fetish-y than normal. Her make-up was running down her face as she wailed. Oh dear.

All in all, he was just glad nobody was around. This situation probably didn't look pretty from the outside.

They were almost at his door when she just gave up walking and near collapsed on the ground. He hoisted her up again bridal style as she wailed. Jesus, she smelt like she was dipped in alcohol.

He threw open the door and made inside, just to start the countdown.

5…

"_Stupid, stupid_ mutation!"

4…

"An' _stupid_ everyone, with all their _stupid_ touchin' an' _stupid_ relationships!"

3…

"It's jus' not _fair!_"

2…

A low, mourning sound came out of her mouth. He grabbed some water and crackers in passing the kitchen.

1…

"Rems…" she moaned.

He set her down next to the toilet. "We're in the bathroom, _chérie_," he reassured, already tying up her hair.

"Oh, god," she moaned…

* * *

><p>"'Member that time?" she whispered, lying limp on his bed.<p>

"Which time?"

"That time. When you started the fire…"

A smile quirked his lips. "When I stole Henri's lighter for the first time?"

"Mmmmhm," she sigh. "An' we thought the entire swamp was gonna go up in flames?"

"And Stormy happened to be over and saw it happen," he remembered fondly.

"An' right as we thought we were gonna die, the rain fell from the sky."

"Didn't even know it was Storm back then."

"Ah couldn't believe how hard it came down. It was like magic," she murmured into the pillow.

"We couldn't even get out, there were puddles the size of you all around."

"An' then…the clouds cleared… an' everythin' was burnt and it looked horrible… tragic…"

"And we still got whooped."

She chuckled sleepily and was silent for a minute. Maybe she had finally passed out.

"How old were we back then, Rems?"

"'Bout five, methinks."

He saw her smile into the pillow and curl up more into the long sleeve shirt he had lent her. A few more minutes later, she was still breathing steadily. Was she finally passing out?

He grabbed a blanket and covered her, before grabbing a spare pillow and blanket and attempting to make it to the couch.

"Waiiiit," she moaned, limply flailing an arm in his direction. "Please stay…"

He made it back to the bed and lounged again. He could swear the sun would be rising soon.

She reached out with her gloved hands and tried to find him through closed eyes. He chuckled and just held her flailing hand.

"'Member that time you were tryna impress me… an' you climbed that swamp tree… an' you fell out an' broke a leg?"

He groaned. She just _had_ to bring up that story, didn't she? "_Ouais,_ how could I forget?"

"An' you cried an' moaned an' you wouldn't let me leave to go get help, so I tried to carry you like a baby…"

"But you couldn't, so I hadta climb on your back."

"I 'member how it felt… an' how Henri called you a girl cuz you wouldn't stop cryin'…"

"Still does call me a girl," he muttered.

"An' how old were we back then?"

"Think I had just turned thirteen. You were still twelve."

"It seems so long ago…"

"We've seen some hard times, _ma_ _chérie_. That's why it seems so long ago…"

"I wish… things were easy… like they were back then…" she sighed, drowsily melancholic.

He frowned. "Things'll get better,_ chérie_."

She lapsed into another silence. He was just about to drift into sleep himself, when she squeezed his hand.

"Hey," she whispered.

"Mmmm," he sounded.

"Thanks for comin' an' takin' care of me an' carryin' my drunk ass…" she mumbled. "You didn't havta…"

He chuckled. "_Ma chérie¸_ you know I'll always come for you, no matter what."

"Really?"

By the sound of her voice, he wondered if she was just sleep talking at this point.

"I've come for you before. Across the sea, mountains, deserts, fire, mist- no element could keep me from comin' to you."

"Apocalypse related events don't count," she muttered.

"'Course it does. It's too extreme to not count. In fact, it just proves my case even more." And in response, he thought he heard something akin to "stupid swamp rat."

He scooted down and stroked her hair.

"Hey."

"Mmmm?" It barely qualified as a sound on her part.

"You know…If you ever need me, if you ever feel like breakin' down… just call me. There ain't no good reason why you gotta do it alone."

He leaned over and kissed her gently on her forehead.

"You know I'll carry you home any day."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>I had a huge creative OOMPH and decided to just spit this out. It's a quick little story, based on The Bird and The Bees' song "Baby". Now, it doesn't have the word baby, but Remy and Rogue aren't really the "Baby" type. If you're trying to wrap your head around how this fits into the canon, just assume they know each other from an early age and Remy isn't associated with the X-Men (yet) and thus has his own apartment to which Rogue could crash. Obviously, they aren't together, but they have important history together. Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this pointless fluff. I'd recommend listening to The Birds and The Bees- they're one of my favorite bands and I have a few more songs I'd like to sample from them. In any case, I hope you enjoyed this little ficlet and another thank you to those who reviewed and those who added me to their alerts/favorites lists! And if you haven't, please review! I adore them and need some life encouragement. _Ciao_! MidnightManic


	4. The Third Fate: Part 1

**Title: **The Love-Hate Chronicles

**Pairing:** Rogue and Remy

**Rating: **Teen/Mature

**Warnings:** May contain heartbreak or happiness. It depends on my mood.

**Disclaimer: **I don't even own the rights to any of my college degrees and will not for many, many, many years… It's called a starving ex-student, and by the state of my fridge, I'm living the dream.

**Summary: **Unrelated tales describing the many different fates of our star-crossed Southerners. Wear your heart on your sleeve and have hope in your heart because not every story has a clean beginning or a happy ending. ROMY.

**AN: **Read first chapter for rules to the game. :) These don't necessarily have anything to do with each other OR need that you know anything more than what is presented.

* * *

><p><strong>The Love-Hate Chronicles<strong>

**The Third Fate **

**Part One**

**You're A Cad**

* * *

><p>Rogue had the wonderful privilege of learning the deepest, darkest secrets of those around her. Hell, she was even privy to the secrets of those who <em>weren't<em> around her. This privilege had its wonderful benefits. It made her a perfect candidate for stealing information when technology wasn't involved, for figuring out when someone was lying, for draining a potential power explosion. It also fueled her general distrust of society like kindling to a fire. She wasn't sure when she realized this disturbing fact about herself- maybe sometime after she was screwed over so many times by this-and-that organization/mutant wanting to take over the world/fix their own damn problems. She wasn't always so distrustful- oh no, she remembered the times she would count on the inherent goodness of people.

She remembered it only vaguely, of course.

So when Gambit had the gall to literally _knock_ on the Institute's iron-locked gates, she wasn't impressed in the slightest. After all, she had the pleasure of knowing a sizable chunk of what made him tick and how he made others tick too.

How he paraded into the Institute grounds that day was eye-roll worthy. It was almost as if he had come back from a vacation, the way he rolled straight into the Institute's side entrance off the garage. It was easy for Rogue to see how Gambit felt so relaxed and familiar already- he had already studied the Institute grounds thoroughly in research for the time he kidnapped and _used_ her.

But no one else realized that though. It struck her as ironic that the one mutant they should actually be suspicious of, the X-Men welcomed with relatively open arms. Where was that quick jump-the-gun Cyclops? Where was the over-protective Wolverine and that always useful, porting-through-the-nine-circles-of-hell brother of hers? They weren't around, apparently. Figured- just when she needed them most.

It sickened her how fast he started his suave, charismatic magic. In fact, the other girls had been quickly won over with a savory smile, a kiss to the hand, and a sultry "_Bonjour_". And _that_ was just on the first day. She knew Gambit realized early he had to weasel his way into the good books of everyone else to get a lasting spot on the team. And the research he had been forced to do for Magneto came into play easily. Didn't Hank enjoy a good intellectual conversation over chess? Didn't Kurt crave Burger Bombs like a heroin addict itched for a hit? Didn't Logan like special imported Canadian beer?

It was easy to see the game he was playing and even easier for her to brush him off when it was finally her turn on the Trust Checklist. And of course, when she really thought about it (which was starting to take up more and more of her time), it only added salt to her wounds that _she_ would be last on his checklist. Shouldn't she be first, considering he had been an asshole to her the longest? And one would think he would actually make an good effort to prove to her he wasn't an one-jump-ahead-of-the-bread-line, self-absorbed jackass; instead, he settled with moronic, half-assed tactics: the blaring of her favorite metal band from his earphones whenever she was around, the creepily on-target comments on the classic, dark novel she was reading, the cup of coffee that was conveniently ready when she was in the kitchen-

"Fancy a cup, _chérie_?"

"I can get it myself, thank ya very much," Rogue rolled her eyes, grabbing a mug and the decanter for herself. It wasn't the first time she had to say this, but it was the first time she got to say it in her most annoyed, scathing tone without looking like the ultimate bitch in the middle of the room full of people. It felt nice.

"Somethin' wrong?" Gambit inquired, feigning confusion.

His fake confusion only irritated her more. He really didn't have to put on a show for her- no one was around to admire his acting abilities and she didn't care to keep the nice façade up. "I'm not in the mood, so cut the crap," she said plainly, pouring her coffee.

Gambit only raised his eyebrows in response. "Come again?"

Why was he so insistent on playing this stupid game? "Don't even," she glared. "I know what you're up to and it ain't gonna work."

Gambit leaned against the cupboard and cocked his head to the side. She knew that in that mind of his, he was trying to analyze her, trying to figure out if she was going to be a _problem_ during his time here. "Oh, yeah? And what 'xactly am I up to?"

She scoffed and stared plaintively. Oh yes, she was going to be a pain in the ass to whatever his mission was here. "After all the hard work's done and over, you want the whole world to notice that you've come around to the good guy's side."

"Eh, not so much that," he shrugged casually, taking a sip of his coffee.

"Then what?" she snipped.

"It's just a good time to change, is all."

Rogue rolled her eyes again. He was always so evasive, so clearly harboring a secret he wanted everyone around him to ponder. Narcissistic ass. "And now that you've 'changed', you expect that everyone'll see how you're really so much better now? With all your bribes and conveniently similar hobbies?"

Gambit smiled devilishly. It was as good as a confession as she was going to get that whatever his goal here was hardly altruistic. "Doesn't hurt to get in everyone's good books. Cream and sugar with your coffee, _chérie_?"

Rogue made a scathing face. "I'll pass. I know the truth." She tapped her head and walked away. She wasn't going to waste her youth on someone so ill-bred and morally reprehensible enough to weasel their way into the good Institute's trust.

* * *

><p>Every day he slid sneakily through the Institute hallways was a reminder that there was a fox in the hen house. She was ignoring the vouch of confidence given by honorable Piotr and sage-like Ororo- she had her own reasons for being dismissive and to hell with you if it wasn't enough. He was up to something and she was the only one who realized it. She had been fooled into thinking he was helping her at one time- and that bit her in the ass completely. If you asked her opinion, he was the adorable dog that greeted you excitedly every time you came up the driveway- but the minute your back was turned, your favorite pair of shoes were torn up and buried in the backyard.<p>

In Rogue's head, there were plenty of reasons to be suspicious and she mulled over it constantly. His life-story was in her head, for crying out loud! She had instant replays of every poker game he cheated on; the made-up lives he created and exhausted for various heists and projects; the jar of hearts he cracked open like a piggy bank and ate for breakfast, lunch, and dinner; the baubles and treasure he stole; the villain work he had done for Magneto- she knew all of that and she still couldn't figure out what kind of game he was playing, _why_ he was doing this.

But he continued to subtly, yet so _obviously_ flaunt the relationships he was procuring. It almost felt as if she was playing Risk, watching him slowly and quietly overtake her neighboring countries. And these said neighboring countries were _happily_ letting him invade. Whatever defensive opinion she harbored was ignored and he knew it. _He knew it_. And he flaunted it every second she was around.

When it was breakfast time and she needed to grab her cereal off the top shelf: "Lemme get that for you_, chérie_," he'd wink knowingly in the packed room and look around. "Anybody else need somethin' from up here?"

Whenever he was helping one of the girls "stretch out" before a workout: "How 'bout you, _chérie_? I can get you after I'm done with the _petite_."

Walking out the door to whatever outing he was invited on: "Wanna come?" he'd ask, turning and cocking his head towards her with that arrogant, fake curiosity. "Always room for one more, especially for one as _belle_ as yourself."

Ass.

It was almost obsessive the way she kept an eye out for his latest "Trust Conquest". Whenever his name and an action were paired together in the same sentence, she'd perk up and be quick to formulate a snide comment and roll her eyes. It was almost a game they played now; he sent her his smarmiest smirk and smoothest comments- and she'd expel the bitchiest thing she could think of at the time.

It was Kitty to first point out how much Rogue had begun to comment and inquire about Gambit's recent antics.

"You know," Kitty sang in response to Rogue's griping. "It sounds like someone has a major problem with hunk-o-saurus."

Rogue gave her a life-withering glare. "The only problem I have is seein' how chummy everyone's gettin' with him. Ya'll are just fish on his hook and he's pullin' your strings like a puppet master."

Kitty widened her eyes almost in disbelief. Apparently Rogue's feelings hadn't been succinctly stated before then and it was a shock to Kitty. "Jeez, Rogue, he's not exactly a supervillain anymore. Chill out and give him a chance."

"I'll give him a chance when hell freezes over," Rogue sneered.

"With Bobby around, it just might."

"Ha ha," she muttered darkly.

"Besides, shouldn't you totally vouch for him? I mean, you _were_ a Brotherhood member at one time." Only Kitty could bring up issues without Rogue going berserk on her- others were only privileged to mentally skirt around concerns regarding Rogue.

"_That_ hardly counted. I was there cuz I was _clearly_ bein' used and I had no other options. _He, _on the other hand, was a lackey by choice."

"Do you know that for sure? I mean, you're not just bitter he got one over you during your dreamy adventure time alone?"

Anyone else would have gotten a barehanded smack from Rogue. But it was Kitty- so Rogue only gave her a growl and a dark, pointed glare as she tapped her head. "I know."

Kitty raised her hands up defensively. "Sheesh, alright. You don't trust the guy, we get it."

"Let's just say, he makes me rethink _my_ name."

And Kitty muttered something akin to "hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, much?"

Rogue threw a pillow at Kitty's face before she could phase through and stalked out of the room.

After that incident, Rogue had been much quieter in her vocalizations about Gambit's presence. With the almost blatant accusation that she was almost borderline obsessive about Gambit's hidden agenda, she tried to tone her quest down. And she figured if she didn't say anything aloud and _ignored_ the comments, she would be better at ignoring him.

But that didn't happen.

In fact, it got worse.

* * *

><p>You could only avoid someone so much if they weren't on your combat team. Even during regular training sessions, every girl would ogle him like he was on display at the Met. The ogling wasn't a silent affair, either. It was loud, moan-y, and too explicit for most of them. It was like a disease the entire female population had been knowingly and willingly infected with and she was pained for her gender.<p>

So when he actual wormed his way into the X-Men ranks, it was difficult not to notice and absolutely hate his presence in practices or during missions; it was like he had a studio audience of girls "ooh"-ing and "ahh"-ing over every idiotic French phrase he rolled and oozed. Apparently the sound effects were only obnoxious to her- but when it came down to actual sparring practice and no one could hear over the raucous girls deciding/fighting over who got to "spar" with him, the fearsome Wolverine finally fucking stepped in.

"Everybody, _shut up_," he finally hollered. His terrifying glare set upon the group of gaggling girls and they all took a quick step back. With a quick twitch, he isolated the Cajun successfully. "I think we'll pair you with someone new today, what do you say?" It was a poorly disguised threat, yet somewhat effective.

"Whatever you see fit, _monsieur,_" Gambit tipped his head graciously. There was a clear easygoingness in his feature, but she saw past it; she saw jovial defiance and mockery.

"Any volunteers?" Wolverine's voice rang out, clearly excluding the sulking/uncomfortable girls previously groveling at Gambit's feet.

That was an invitation to clear some of her frustration towards him if she ever saw it. During the last few weeks, she had just _itched_ to release her pent up frustration every time she saw his _stupid _face and heard his _stupid _voice; she knew the rage wouldn't settle until he knew the extent of her abhorrence towards him and until she knew the reason behind his carefree existence at the Institute. Rogue yanked at the fingertips of her gloves and threw them on the ground. "I'll do it," she called out deviously.

When Wolverine turned towards her, she swore she saw a tiny glint of amusement. "Good. Everybody else, pair up."

Rogue stalked to his mat and sized him up as he lingeringly finished stretching. She wasn't anywhere near his size or bulk, but she could bend and move and more importantly, do some damage.

"Well, I'm surprised, _chérie,_" he tipped his head curiously at her. "Is this a change of heart, maybe?"

"Hardly," she glowered, taking the time to crack her knuckles and her neck. "It's just time to get you all figured out."

"What's to figure out?" Gambit stood up leisurely with a crooked smile.

"What the point of this all is," she sneered as she swung at his face. Game on and she was going to win.

"The point of what, _chérie_?" he grinned as he swatted her hand away easily.

High kick and block. "What's the point playin' your game?" _Why are you back in my life_?

"Why do you keep thinkin' I'm playin' some game?" he chuckled and she glowered at him. Just like his views on the X-Men, he wasn't taking her martial arts abilities seriously.

"How about your _past_?" she grunted as she swung at him again.

"They call the past 'the past' for a reason, you know," he reached out to block her again and she yanked his arm and landed a high kick right underneath his ribcage. He winced.

"They also say 'old habits die hard'," she grinned knowingly and low kicked his calves. He quickly blocked those off with his feet and she stepped off a few feet. "How long do you think you can keep up this charade?" she purred. "How long is it until you make a mistake and somethin' blows up in your face?"

"Look, _chérie, _I know you're still mad about-" he began before she growled and sent a fake roundabout turned knee-to-the-gut.

"It _ain't_ about that," she hissed as he crouched over in pain. Rogue took this opportunity to swipe his legs out from under him and he rolled on the ground.

"Well, it sure as hell seems like it," he groaned as he grabbed her arm from his position on the ground and took her legs out from under her.

She gracefully rolled backwards and crouched as he rolled back up leisurely. "Well, it _ain't_," she defended herself hotly. "It's about _you_, thinkin' that you can just waltz right in here and pretend you could be a better man."

"Who said I'm pretendin'?" he grinned.

"I _know_ you are," she hissed fiercely, jolting upwards and rushing him with a knee to the chest, knocking the breath out of him before he could shove her off."What I don't get is why you're tryin' so hard," she took a quick moment to jab at his face and was blocked. He grabbed her arm and forced her to twirl into him.

She growled and with some effort, hooked her leg behind his and kicked his leg out from under him, causing them both to fall backwards. She landed on him hard and elbowed him, rolling away to get out of his hold.

"How long is it until you give in?" she taunted with a condescending sneer. "Until you go back to the swamps like the low-life thief you are?"

There was a sharp glitter in his eye as he stood up she knew she had finally stabbed deep enough and was chipping away at his unshakeable demeanor. It felt good and she wanted more.

"You really don't like that I'm here, do you?" he smirked darkly.

"Winner, winner," she muttered, rushing him, attempting to send a fist to his gut but being slapped away. She didn't stop, quickly switching to a knee-in-the-gut, flipping around and sending a high kick to his face. He caught her leg mid air and with his foot, pulled out her standing leg out from under her, shoving her backwards on her ass.

He fell to his knees and pinned her to the ground. "Well, _chérie_," he crooned, inches from her face. He looked entirely too satisfied and triumphant that his presence was pissing her off so much. "I guess that's just too damn bad."

She growled and kneed him in man-parts. It was dirty fighting but it felt terrific to see him in pain. His distraction let her flip them over; she yanked him up by his collar and rested her knee on his now sensitive man parts.

"_Why are you back_?" she hissed, in the deadliest, don't-fuck-with-me tone she could muster.

He stared at her intently, clearly understanding the threat. "Go ahead, _chérie_, finish me," he challenged intently, dangerously.

"_Fuck you_."

"You know you want to," he taunted, bringing his face closer to hers. "Absorb my thoughts. See that I really mean you no harm."

_Oh_, those damn words. Those same damn words from that damn Cajun. The same words she had repeated over and over, overanalyzed, agonized over. Those _damn_ words were the pivotal point in the whole _ordeal_ that could have changed the _entire_ outcome of _everything_.

Well, not _everything_. But everything that pertained to that adventure.

But if she hadn't been too damn scared to use her powers, if she had used them to the advantage of _her_ and not someone else…

She wouldn't have been duped so entirely that she lost what little faith she had left in humanity.

Rage bubbled up insider her and she took the bait. "Y'know what? I'm so glad you offered," she purred sweetly. "Sweet dreams, Cajun." She slapped her bare hands onto his steady face and almost cackled through the stinging. She had won.

With the gut-churning feeling of falling headfirst into someone's life, she knew this was the sweet relief she had craved for _months_. It was all there for her to see and feel and be and it felt fantastic. She drank in all his lewd comments, his dirty deeds, his quiet observations, his mounting feeling of unbearable pain with a cackling realization that he couldn't hide from her, that she was more or less right about him.

But she didn't let go.

He _owed_ her this.

And there was no resistance on his part as she plummeted deeper and deeper into his open, writhing soul. There was so much to see and she needed to see it all. There was some kind of manic high with twirling and digging herself into him and she never wanted to stop drinking it in. All of the elements she had only had a glimpse of previously were exposed and bleeding and she was ecstatic to find more treasures to dig up- his mistakes, his faults, his regrets.

The dive deepened and she plunged into the deepest and darkest crevices of his soul. It was a sudden realization but no surprise that light no longer existed here and she struggled to breathe. She was drowning in self-loathing and melancholy and she couldn't find where he began and she ended anymore. Everything was suffocating- his pent-up fury and remorse and shame and after a moment, she realized she couldn't find a way out but she _needed _to. _Now._

Maybe someone yanked her off or maybe she finally found the strength to wake up and pull away. She gasped for clean, untainted air and instead choked from the bright lights suddenly invading her shadowed and dismal self.

He wasn't trying so hard because it was just another game to him.

Remy was trying so hard because it was all he had.

_Fuck_.

She was such a bitch.

* * *

><p>Rogue's eyes kept twitching towards her phone. As the time passed, she went from itching to touch her phone, to adjusting her vibrate and ring settings, to restarting it, to continuously flicking it on and off. There had been no calls, no texts, no updates, but she was getting horrifically anxious. His raucously lewd personality had finally faded to just a whisper in the background and yet there was <em>no word<em> from the Medical Bay.

But it wasn't like she _cared_ if he made it through. She knew he would wake up soon. And she was glad it was soon- it means she could rip his stupid Cajun head off his stupid Cajun body sooner rather than later. She was pissed and she was pissed at him and she wouldn't be finished being pissed at him until she _told _him she was pissed at him.

He had played her one last time and she fell for it hook, line, and sinker. When his primary and secondary tactics (those being getting along famously with the closest of her friends and trying to share some sort of similar interests with her) had failed to sway her, he had to move on to secret option C- definitely a last and painful resort. He wondered and debated with this option for a while, not knowing what the outcome would be and that whatever happened would be ultimately up to Lady Luck.

And as Lady Luck would dictate, Rogue herself was the deciding factor, presenting the perfect opportunity for him to exhaust his last plan: exposing himself completely to show her _everything_- the ultimate gamble, the ultimate win, and the ultimate way to piss her off.

The phone finally rang and she didn't bother answering it for the sheer reason he had been unconscious and yet had still managed to take over her thoughts completely- _yet again_. She bolted out of her room and stormed through the entire Institute until she slammed open the Med Bay's doors.

"You," she hissed and pointed. It wasn't ideal or polite, but it was the last chance she would have to indulge in the sweet, sweet anger she had been harboring towards him for god-knows how long now.

"Well, _bonjour_ to you too," he grunted and squinted at the doorway she was fuming from.

"You," she seethed. "You are an _asshole_."

"Am I?"

"Oh, yes," she hissed. "And that's not all."

"Oh?"

"You," she pointed.

"Go on," he nodded pleasantly.

"You- you're a damn cad and a bounder!" she began pacing the room.

"A what?"

"You're a thievin' dog and a lyin' _cheat_!"

"Well, that's part of the job description," he shrugged indifferently.

"Lord, I've _seen_ all the lives you've had- and all the girls you've _slept_ with, you perverted pig!"

"But did you see something you like?"

She threw a neighboring pillow at his face.

"You're a goddamn rascal and more of a rogue than I am!"

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Well, don't! Ugh!" she stamped her foot. "You're a villain and a crook-"

"Didn't you already say that?"

"You're _rash_," she accused.

"I've been told."

"You're _hasty_," she spat.

"Not with _some_ things."

"And Jesus _Christ_," she ignored him and threw her hands in the air. "You're just so damn _reckless_ with people's- with people's goddamn feelin's! And now I'm the stupid one for fallin' for your damn tricks- _again_."

"Hey, now-"

"_And_ I should feel better tellin' you all of this," she accused and picked up the pillow, "but now I just feel _worse_," she hissed and raised the pillow, "and it's all," thump, "because," thump, "of," thump-thump, "_you_!"

Rogue released a melee attack on his face. Remy yanked the pillow away from her after a few good smacks and with a guttural shriek, Rogue collapsed onto the chair next to his gurney. She _refused_ to look at his exhausted, observant eyes and just glared at the wall next to him. It was awkward but she wasn't giving in that easily.

"I take it you know the truth now," he stated drily.

"All thirty-one fuckin' flavors of it," she scoffed angrily.

"Your sweet tooth satisfied now?"

She sighed in annoyance. "Yeah," she pouted angrily.

"So you gonna trust me?"

"Ugh," she pouted further and stamped her feet on the ground.

* * *

><p>She supposed everything should be better after this whole affair.<p>

But now he made the ranks of a decent person in her books.

And that was so much worse, she found out later.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note<strong>: Ohai! I hope you enjoyed this one, it was definitely an exercise in writing for me. You may be asking "what did Rogue really see" but know that the point wasn't to expose what Remy had done specifically (come on, we all know his dubious past), only that he isn't a heartless monster, no matter how Rogue tries to justify his past actions towards her. This is another fun song from The Bird and The Bees ("You're A Cad"). Check it out if you have the time. This particular fate is going to be expanded, but maybe not in order, depending on my muses. I hope you enjoyed!


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